Alternatively, Reburied
by Expecto-Prongs
Summary: When Moriarty's torture of John goes awry, he decides that being forced to watch High School Musical whilst tied to a chair will have to do. Little does he know... John knows all the songs. Chaos ensues. This is a crack one shot tag to Unburied, but can be read stand alone.


**Alright folks. I feel pretty gosh darned bad about the turn Unburied is taking, so I decided to make a crack one shot alternative ending for it. Just to liven up spirits before I mercilessly crush them!**

**This follows chapter 15 of Unburied. If you haven't read it, this won't make sense. If you have read it, this won't make sense... so I guess you can read it stand alone.**

**The following makes zero sense. It should be taken with a grain of salt, and maybe a kernel of pepper.**

Sherlock looked down at the fingers in the box, hands trembling with emotion as he surveyed the mutilated digits. Three fingers from a right hand. John's right hand. He couldn't believe that this was happening to his flat mate, and he was powerless to stop it.

The stiff appendages were bathed in a viscous pool of red liquid that-

Viscous red... liquid... that looked like... ketchup?

Mycroft continued to blab into the phone in the adjacent room as Sherlock tentatively brought the box up to his nose.

Tomato, vinegar... that was definitely ketchup. Feeling a knot untie in his stomach, he poked at the maybe-not-fingers and found them to be completely rubber.

He poked the offending prosthetics again.

Rubber, doused in flour and ketchup. They were closer to being diner food than human flesh.

Mycroft pushed into the room, chest heaving with frustration.

"There was no bomb in the building, Moriarty lied. There was a book of low calorie diet substitutions made out to me though," Mycroft whined. "Moriarty signed it personally. How much do you think it will go for on ebay? I mean, a bunch of criminal wannabes must be dying for an autograph-" Mycroft kept talking, oblivious to the fact that John's fingers were not actually his fingers, and that Sherlock was wondering how they would taste fried.

"I DEDUCE THAT JAWN IS IN NO IMMEDIATE DANGER AND THAT YOU NEED TO GO ON A DIET," Sherlock bellowed after telling himself that feeding Jawn his own prosthetics in the name of science was a bit not good.

"Rude," the cake loving government official sniffed, before hitting his brother on the head with his ever present umbrella. "I'm going home to eat cake. All work and no cake makes Myc a dull boy." And with that, Mycroft made a rather dramatic exit swinging his umbrella around frivolously.

"It's not even raining you idiot!" Sherlock called out the door after him. As usual, his brother ignored him.

**MEANWHILE, IN AN UNDISCLOSED LOCATION**

"Wow," John said, looking at the madman in front of him. "This is... really not how I expected the night to go."

He was still tied to the chair, and a car battery was sitting a few meters away. However, Moriarty had gotten frustrated after shocking himself numerous times while trying to get the wires set up, and had given up the endeavor pretty quickly.

"I decided it is much worse to be tied to a chair forced to watch all of the high school musicals in a row," Moriarty said, sucking on his singed fingers and looking as intimidating as an angry toddler.

"You underestimate how much I love stupid disney movies," John said, grinning. "I know all the songs."

"John Hamish Watson, if that really is your name. I seem to have underestimated you... again."

"That seems to be a Recurring Pattern," John speculated, tilting his head and obviously capitalizing the words 'Recurring' and 'Pattern' for no reason.

"It's called lazy writing," Jim said, smashing the fourth wall into tiny shards that I cut my fingers on.

"Ow," I complained, frowning at the mastermind. "That hurt, you prick."

"MIND THE FOURTH WALL!" Jim screamed in panic as reality started falling apart.

"YOU'RE THE ONE THAT BROKE IT IN THE FIRST PLACE!" I howled, frantically trying to piece together how exactly this happened.

"SHUT UP THE BOTH OF YOU!" John said in his assassin voice. Moriarty quieted, and I quickly made an exit from the story before I could do more irreparable damage to the fabric of reality. John sniffed, affronted at all of this ridiculousness. "Alright. I'll be Sharpay, and you can be Ryan."

Moriarty pouted. "My voice is too high to sing for Ryan."

"Too bad. I always sing for Sharpay." John's voice held no room for argument.

"Fine. But I get to prank Sherlock first. I told him I'd cut off your fingers if you screamed while I was electrocuting you-"

"You did WHAT?"

"-so I'm just going to send him some fake fingers first."

"Fine," John sighed, so tired of being in this story. When did this become his life? He wanted a raise. "Just hurry. I want to sing Status Quo soon."

"Me too, Johnny. Me too."

**MEANWHILE, BACK AT BAKER STREET**

**mind palace**

**MEANWHILE, BACK WHERE MORIARTY AND JAWN WERE BONDING**

"Man, I gotta give my singing voice a break," John panted. "I haven't sang this much since Les Mis came out."

All of a sudden, Harry walked out of a closet that no one noticed before.

"DID SOMEONE SAY CAME OUT?" Harry bellowed, looking like she had been living in that closet for a while, waiting for a chance to make that joke.

"Harry, you came out years ago. That joke stopped being funny after your second girlfriend."

"Whatever John. I don't need your sass right now." Harry said, miffed that no one thought her overused joke was funny.

"You're still alive?" Moriarty asked, getting more and more confused with the course this story was taking.

"Of course I am silly! I'm a barista! And a barista always knows that if you drink enough Starbucks, you become immortal!"

"Damn!" Moriarty growled. "I forgot about that!"

John nodded. "The only thing that can kill a barista is a stale bagel with mass produced egg patties and burnt coffee."

"Damn times two!" Moriarty threw his hands up in the air. "I am three hundred percent done with this story!"

"I think we should go on strike," John said mildly, his arms beginning to go numb.

Suddenly, Sherlock broke down the door and burst into the room, completely unarmed and donning his traditional blue scarf.

"JAWN I AM HERE TO SAVE YOU FROM MORIARTY!" Sherlock roared, flailing his arms in the windmill of death offensive position.

"THRICE DAMN!" Moriarty screamed. "WHAT EVEN!?111!? How did you find us?"

Sherlock opened his mouth, and a string of fax sounds came out.

"His deductions are too redikulus!" Harry said, covering her ears to block out the screeching. "They sound like fax noises to us normal folks!" After several minutes of this, Sherlock finally closed his mouth.

"Now what?" John asked, because he just wanted this to end, dammit.

"Well, before we leave-"

"And how, pray tell, are you going to do that?" Moriarty interrupted, growing increasingly aggravated. Sherlock ignored him.

"-you're going to tell me... why didn't you tell me you were an assassin?"

"***SPOILERS****" John explained, tears gathering in his eyes.

"Well, that makes sense," Sherlock said, looking relieved.

"GET A ROOM!" Harry cat called, before going back into her closet. "I think I'll stay here for a while. There's a mini bar in here." The door shut, and Moriarty went over to it.

"I don't remember putting a closet here... or putting a mini fridge in there..." Moriarty said to himself. He pulled open the door, only to see that no one was there. "?" Moriarty groaned, hitting his head up against the wall.

Meanwhile, Sherlock and John were making canonical intense eye contact that was completely platonic, thank you. Please get your mind out of the gutter.

"How did you know?" John whispered, ignoring the sound of Jim hitting his head against the wall over and over.

"***MIND PALACE****" Sherlock said with a mysterious smile. John looked amazed.

"Fantastic!"

"I know."

"GET THE HELL OUT OF MY BUILDING, THE BOTH OF YOU!" Moriarty screamed, feeling the beginnings of a migraine.

"You're just... letting us go?" Sherlock frowned, incredulous.

"Yes," Moriarty hissed. "In the course of four hours, I've gotten shocked, shoved into the role of Ryan, had my whole reality fall apart, found out that my assassination of Harry has gone awry, suffered from shoddy writing, had a magical closet materialize out of nowhere, AND HAD YOU BREAK DOWN MY DESIGNER DOOR! You are no longer welcome here. I'll come after you when my life crisis ends."

"Well, see you later!" John beamed, suddenly free from his bonds with zero explanation.

"GET OUT!" Moriarty yelled.

They did.

**THE END!**

**Our regularly scheduled angst will be out soon. I just... couldn't resist. Take time to review!**


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